


Dreams and Expectations

by Ladroitte



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Bad Pick-Up Lines, Drunkenness, Euphemisms, F/M, Fluff, Hangover, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:34:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25687387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladroitte/pseuds/Ladroitte
Summary: Stumbling upon a drunk Ingrid in a pile of hay, Sylvain has to think fast to get her back on her feet. Neither he nor Felix knows what made her resort to crying in the stables at midnight, but considering that it's Ingrid, they can be sure it's bad.In the words of her father, however, maybe this was the last push needed to finally set things in motion.
Relationships: Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 25
Kudos: 50





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, hey, so, I'm pretty new in this fandom but glad to be here! Also I wrote this entire thing yesterday. 12k words. Jeez.
> 
> Hope you'll like it!

Sylvain let his hand slide downward, relishing the rough surface of the stone slabs as it rasped against his palm. The smile on his lips felt stale, but the girl slotted between him and the wall didn’t seem to care. She giggled quietly, a private laugh just for him, filling his senses with the scent of liquor hidden beneath a sickly sweet veil of black currant. Her hands were hot as they ran down his chest, catching on the buttons on his thin white shirt; he could swear they left a scorching trail all the way down to the waistband of his pants, where they stopped as she looked up at him with cloudy eyes. He fixed his attention on the latter. Eyes were an easy target.

“You must know a master thief,” he murmured in the low yet lilting voice that always worked magic on girls like her, “‘cause someone stole the stars from the sky and put them in your eyes.”

Her smile widened, then turned mischievous as she let her hands grab on to his shirt. “You’re such a sweet talker, Sylvain Gautier,” she purred, rising up on her tiptoes to reach his ear before continuing in a whisper, “I wonder if you’re a sweet lover too?”

He held in a chuckle. Another sweet talker, huh? That called for something extra. He smiled and brought his right hand to her jaw, exhaling softly into her ear. 

“I may not go down in history, but I’ll go down on you if you’ll let me.”

A sudden hot puff of breath against his neck told him he’d made the right choice. 

“My place or yours?”

“Well,” he said, pulling back to look her deep in the eyes, “they say you should follow your dreams, so will you let me follow you home?”

She grinned up at him, playfully wiggling her eyebrows once. “So you’re a dream catcher, eh? Let’s see what you’re made of.”

With that, she bent down and slipped out beneath his arm, turning back to wink at him before running around that corner. Sylvain let out an amused huff. She hadn’t even told him her name yet, but he had a feeling he’d know it by heart in the morning.

He started after her, rounding the corner and passing the stables with a smile on his face. She wasn’t exactly giving him a challenge; he just had to jog lightly and he’d almost caught up with her already. She made a last attempt to pull away when he tried to grab her arm, but he feinted to the side and spun her into his arms, smoothly bringing a hand up to cup her neck.

“Got you,” he whispered.

Only to hear a sob somewhere behind him.

He tensed, somehow recognizing the voice yet being unable to place it. The girl in his arms looked past him with a frown.

“Did you hear that?” she asked quietly.

“Yeah. Seemed like it came from the stables.”

Another sob; louder and less restrained this time. Yeah, okay, he definitely knew that voice. It’d been a long time since he’d heard it in this state, but he was fairly sure he knew its owner now.

“Gimme a sec,” he said, pulling away and walking back toward the sound. If she was disappointed or annoyed at that, he didn’t notice, all of his attention now turned to the person who was clearly in need. He quietly peeked into the stable, waiting impatiently while his eyes adjusted to the tiny sliver of light streaming in from outside. He couldn’t discern anyone in there until he heard a third sob, drawing his attention toward a small pile of hay in the corner nearby one of the horses. 

Sylvain peered at the figure, not quite believing his eyes. “Ingrid?” he asked softly.

She whined and pulled her legs up toward her chest, but didn’t answer. She didn’t need to, though; he was 100% sure it was her now.

He straightened and looked back toward the girl, who had crossed her arms over her chest in an attempt to shield herself from the cool breeze. It would have been fun to go with her, but… 

Putting on his most sincerely apologetic smile, he walked back toward her and sighed. “I’m sorry, it’s… a friend of mine who’s in a bad shape. I’m sad to say I’ll have to take a raincheck on our lovely evening.”

Her shoulders sank. “I’m leaving for Enbarr tomorrow.”

Sylvain’s smile froze. He got closer, held out his hand and, when she took it, got down on one knee to kiss the top of her hand. “When next we meet, milady.” He stood up and gave her a small bow. “Safe travels.”

“I… Good night, Sylvain.”

It didn’t occur to him until she’d already turned away and rounded the next corner that he still didn’t know her name. Quickly weighing his options, he decided on leaving a future meeting with a girl he’d known for less than an hour to chance in favor of making sure his childhood friend was alright, and walked in the other direction.

Coming closer to the pile of hay in the stable, his eyes adjusted enough that he could see Ingrid a lot clearer this time. She lay on her side, tears dribbling down over her nose and cheek into the hay. Loosely held in her left hand was a dark glass bottle with a liquid he could only guess wasn’t juice. He’d seen the same kinds of bottle being passed around in secret during tonight’s feast; supposedly someone had smuggled them into the monastery from Abyss. He was pretty sure they contained the stronger stuff, though he’d personally denied every offer to taste it. Maybe he shouldn’t be so ridiculously scared of losing control, at least not from a single taste, but if he lost his judgment in the presence of a girl, it would be all kinds of _bad._ Besides, didn’t seem like he was missing much anyway. Especially not if this was the state that stuff got you in.

“Hey,” he said, taking care to lower his voice when he saw Ingrid scrunch up her face. “Love what you’ve done with the place. Very rustic. Though, didn’t your room used to be next to Mercedes?”

Ingrid groaned, turning her face down into the hay. She mumbled something inaudible.

“What have I told you about talking with your mouth full of hay, Ingrid?”

She groaned even louder, at which he reached forward to grip her shoulders and turn her forward again. He caught her gaze, trying to judge how far gone she was by gauging the way her pupils moved. She blinked slowly at him, a silent snivel scrunching up her face again.

“Go ‘way, Syvain. Is none of--none-of-yo bis… niss.”

The jumbled way she spoke made all kinds of warning bells go off in his mind. He almost blurted out, _‘This isn’t like you,’_ then realized that wouldn’t help at all, then was about to ask, _‘what happened tonight?’_ , but held that in as well since she didn’t exactly seem fit to talk about it. In the end, he settled for, 

“You’re a real lightweight, huh?”

“No ‘m not,” came tumbling out of her mouth as she sat up straight so suddenly that he had to change his grip to stop her from falling over. She frowned hard, like her head hurt. ‘This… is…” She waved clumsily with one hand while she tried to find her words. “I muss’ve been poisoned?”

Sylvain eyed the bottle, which she’d let go of as she argued with him. It had tipped over, spilling out a clear and strongly smelling liquid over the hay. He quickly reached out with one hand to stand it upright; wouldn’t want a stray spark to burn the stables down. 

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, that must be it. You know, in that case, we should probably go see Professor Manuela.”

“Nooo,” she whined, trying to resist as he pulled her up on her feet. 

She wobbled dangerously, forcing him to hook an arm around her waist so she wouldn’t face plant into the floor. She wobbled again, this time in the opposite direction, and he had to steady himself to stop her from toppling them both. He’d never before wished so deeply that she hadn’t been so strong. If she’d been any other girl, he wouldn’t have had any problems with keeping her steady, but of course it had to be Ingrid, the ardent warrior. 

“Yeees,” he said. “If you’ve really been poisoned, we’ve gotta make sure it’s nothing lethal. Right?”

She was silent while he changed his grip a third time, this time looping her arm around him and holding it in place with his left hand while wrapping the other arm around her shoulders. When he was confident he’d found a good grip, he glanced down at her.

“Ingrid?”

“S’not necessary,” she mumbled.

“That’s the poison speaking. Now hold on to me tight, okay? We’re going to walk to the infirmary together.”

He squeezed her shoulder, then took a tentative step forward. She wobbled along, unsteady but able to walk with his aid at least. They made it out of the stable, with Ingrid whining at the much lighter environment. He stopped for a moment, considering his options. The shortest route would take them right past the bustle of the feast, which would put Ingrid in the spotlight. Not good. Maybe if he took the path that passed Knight’s hall… They might run into a stray student or two, but it was probably the best bet.

He steered them in that direction, trying to hurry past the worst bit before they were safe behind the hedges. Trying to walk while keeping a wasted Ingrid steady was slow--painfully slow--but he didn’t really have much choice unless he wanted to carry her. 

Which… might be an idea, actually.

Before they’d reached the end of the hedge, he stopped and bent down to reach behind her knees. Ingrid yelped.

_“Whaddayou--”_

“It’ll be faster this way,” he assured her. 

He hoisted her into his arms, guiding her into wrapping her own around his neck. Her head lolled against his chest before she mumbled something he couldn’t discern again. He took a few steps, gauging the new weight. It wasn’t too bad; she might be strong, but she was still pretty light to carry. As long as she stayed still and didn’t try to wrestle him, they’d be fine.

Now able to walk much faster, he’d reached Knight’s hall in no time. Before passing the two entrances on his sides, he peeked around the pillars to see if anyone was in sight. He almost dropped Ingrid when coming face to face with someone just exiting the hall to his right; and judging by the blur of colors and the sharp sting against his side, he wasn’t the only one who’d been startled.

“Felix,” he exhaled, watching as his assailant lowered both his shoulders and his sword with an annoyed sigh.

“Sylvain,” his friend retorted. Only Felix could make his name sound like a deathly curse. 

He eyed Ingrid, his features pulling into a frown, but he didn’t ask. Of course he wouldn’t. 

“Good night,” he muttered, already in motion to leave. Sylvain spun toward him as fast as he could without dropping the limp girl in his arms.

“Hang on,” he said, hoping Felix would stop to let him speak. To his relief, he did; he had his back turned, but he knew he was listening. “I need your help. Ingrid’s been… _poisoned,”_ he said, trying to emphasize the last word in a way that Felix would understand. “I’m bringing her to the infirmary, but I don’t want to run into anyone on the way.”

When he paused, waiting for a reaction, Felix turned around and crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t see how that’s my problem.”

 _Goddess, Felix, you’re obstinate._ It wasn’t a rare event by any means, but damn it, even now?

Before he could reply, Ingrid stirred in his arms, raising her head and reaching out with her hand toward Felix.

“Mm… Iss’at… Feeelix?” She paused to snort out a laugh. “Feel-ix. Feely. Feely Feelix!” She laughed again, only to bump her temple into Sylvain’s cheek and groan as she slumped back into his grip.

Apparently that was exactly what was needed. Felix stared at her in what could only be described as horror.

“What have you _done_ to her?”

“Oh, come on. That’s a low blow. I found her like this over by the stables.”

Felix stared for another moment before shaking his head. He huffed in annoyance, glanced in the direction he’d been headed, then sighed in defeat and walked ahead of them up the path toward the cemetery. Sylvain followed him, trying to make out what he was muttering while they walked, but without success.

Ingrid was quietly fiddling with the top button on his shirt now, trying in vain to get it unbuttoned. 

“If you wanted to get me naked, you could’ve just asked,” he joked softly. To his surprise, her hand fell from his chest, her cheeks turning a bright red. His smile faded. Apparently that was a wrong step, even now. At least she didn’t scold him.

He and Felix walked in silence the entire way around the reception hall, with Felix a few steps ahead, scouting the areas to make sure no one was around. It worked out better than he could’ve hoped; they heard music and laughing from the direction of the dining hall, but thankfully few people seemed to have a reason to venture much farther than that.

As they reached the staircase to the second floor, Sylvain called for Felix to wait. He stopped, looking back down over his shoulder.

“Could you take over for a bit?”

“We’re almost there.”

“I know, but my arms are getting tired.”

Felix bent his neck to look up at the ceiling, sighing deeply. “Fine.” 

He walked back down, awkwardly holding his arms out as Sylvain jostled Ingrid so she could help make the transition a little smoother. He leaned forward toward Felix.

“Wrap your arms around Felix’s neck,” he told her, and she quietly did as he said. 

He carefully passed her over to Felix, making sure he supported all of her weight before fully letting go, then stepped back to give them some space. Felix adjusted his grip slightly, hoisting her farther up into his arms. Apparently her weight wasn’t that bad even to Felix, because he showed no sign of exertion yet.

Ingrid dug her face into his neck, causing Felix to freeze.

“Mm,” she mumbled against his collar. “You smell like Glenn.”

Sylvain couldn’t stop his gaze from flitting to Felix’s, but when he saw the gleam of pain in his eyes, he quickly looked away. Apparently they couldn’t expect Ingrid to have any kind of filter between her thoughts and her speech when she was this drunk.

He saw Felix start up the stairs out of the corner of his eye, and so he lifted his gaze and followed in silence. Ingrid’s blurted out comment kept ringing through his mind. He didn’t remember what Glenn smelled like--if he’d ever really registered it--but did Ingrid really recognize it in Felix, or was it just the fact that they were brothers that made her associate the two with each other just now?

Come to think of it, the last time he’d heard her cry like she did in the stables… was after Glenn had died.

He thought he could see a tension in Felix’s shoulders, but that could just as well be from carrying Ingrid as from memories of his brother. 

They reached the top of the stairs. Up here, everything was deathly quiet; the doors to the audience chamber were closed, as were all of the doors to the other rooms. Those who weren’t taking part in the feast had probably gone to bed already. Sylvain tried the door to the infirmary, letting out a breath in relief when it gave way. He peeked inside, ready to put on his most charming smile for Manuela, but she was nowhere to be seen.

He walked inside anyway, hearing Felix follow close behind. What now? He didn’t really believe she’d been poisoned, it just seemed like an ordinary case of too much alcohol, but even so, he supposed Ingrid could be in danger. He didn’t have any prior experiences so compare with though. How much was too much? She couldn’t speak properly and definitely wouldn’t be able to walk on her own, but did that mean a danger to her life?

He turned around, hoping Felix would have a clue as to what they should do now, but the sight he met made him stop in his tracks. Ingrid was sitting up relatively straight in Felix’s arms, clenching one of his biceps hard. Her face was a dusky gray, but that wasn’t what concerned him the most. The way she was starting to convulse did.

“Ingrid, are you--”

“I need to… ugh...”

“You do _not_ throw up on me!”

“Hang on,” Sylvain cautioned, already looking around the room for a suitable container. He grabbed the first one he could find--a litter basket standing by the edge of a bed--and moved it to the floor next to Felix. Then he motioned for Felix to carefully let her down on the floor, helping him adjust her so she was bending over the basket. They’d barely gotten her in place before another convulsion jerked her body and a horrible retching sound left her mouth together with a sickly dark yellow liquid. 

Sylvain gently stroked her back while she vomited. “Hold her hair up,” he ordered, and Felix complied right away. Some had already gotten on her blond strands, but at least all of it wasn’t hanging down over her face anymore.

As Ingrid emptied herself of what seemed like all the liquid in her body, Sylvain’s and Felix’s gazes met, and they shared a strange moment together that Sylvain could only describe as camaraderie. Vomit camaraderie, he supposed. Or maybe a camaraderie over their mutual care for Ingrid.

“Should we try to find the Professor?” he asked quietly.

Felix glanced at the drunk girl between them and sighed. “She hasn’t actually been poisoned.”

“I know that, but she could still be in danger, right?”

He seemed to consider this for a moment, watching Ingrid retch loudly as she tried to get every last drop out. “I think this is good. She’s getting it out.”

Sylvain understood what he was getting at, and he felt almost proud of Felix for drawing the same conclusions he did. If it came out that Ingrid had gotten herself blind drunk, she might lose the respect she’d worked so hard to build up during her time at Garreg Mach. All the professors knew her as diligent, knightly and proper, so she would probably die from shame if she found out they’d seen her like this. It wouldn’t be worth it if she was actually in danger, of course, but what Felix said made sense.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “She needs rest, then.”

“And water,” Felix added.

Sylvain nodded. He turned to the beds by the furthermost wall. They couldn’t leave her here, so…

“Her room?”

“We might run into someone.”

“Hers is the closest to the stairs, though. If we took her to any of our rooms, we’d have to go down the entire hallway.”

Felix sighed. “We’ll still have to get her all the way around the classrooms, past the first floor dorms, and then up the stairs by the greenhouse.”

Sylvain glanced at Ingrid. Damn it, they really did, didn’t they? Unless…

She’d stopped vomiting now; she was still bent over the litter basket, and her shoulders trembled, but she was breathing a little more calmly now. 

“Ingrid,” he tried softly. “Hey? Can you look at me?”

Slowly, she straightened and turned to him, wobbling slightly. Felix gripped her upper arms to hold her steady as Sylvain studied her face. She had some vomit on her chin; he pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped it away. Her pupils seemed to have a hard time focusing on him, and she looked past ready to fall asleep, but maybe, just maybe, she looked a tiny bit better than she had when he found her?

“Let’s try to walk a few steps,” he said. 

With Felix’s help, he easily got her to her feet. He told her to grab onto his right arm and not let go until he said so, and she complied nicely. She was leaning heavily on him, but standing still like this, at least she wasn’t wobbling.

“How does she look?” he asked Felix, who took a step back and looked her up and down.

“Like she has one foot in the grave.”

“Could it pass for extremely tired?”

Felix grimaced. “Maybe at a glance, in the dark, from a distance.”

“Good enough.” He used his right hand to cover Ingrid’s hand, making sure it was clenching his arm. “Ready to walk, Ingrid?”

She nodded sluggishly. Sylvain took a tentative step forward. She wobbled, but he kept walking, and eventually, she seemed to get into some kind of rhythm. She couldn’t walk straight for the life of her--her feet kept misstepping and tripping over each other--but she was not as impossible as she’d been before.

“Hey,” he called to Felix, who’d fallen into step behind them, “do you think you could hold her other arm? At least down the stairs.”

Felix silently came up on her other side, helping to steady her as they walked. Sylvain exhaled in relief. They could pull this off. If it went this smooth all the way to her room, they were in the clear.

They tried to keep to the shadows as best they could as they got to the more populated areas. Most people just walked by without acknowledging them, usually busy talking to their friends, but some nodded in greeting, and one--Claude--smirked and advised them to take it easy.

“She’ll feel that tomorrow,” he called before continuing on his way.

Felix muttered something aggressive under his breath.

“Eh, he won’t tell,” Sylvain said.

“He’s probably the one who smuggled the alcohol in the first place.”

Sylvain frowned. Claude? He didn’t know much about the guy, but it seemed like an irresponsible thing for a house leader to do. 

“I doubt it. I just think he’s perceptive.”

“Like he’d need to be,” he muttered.

The rest of their walk went well, and they made it to the stairs without any more hassle, then reached her room. Sylvain tried the door. It didn’t budge.

“Keys?” he asked Ingrid. She was practically already asleep by now, so he jostled her carefully and asked again.

“Mmmpocket,” she mumbled sleepily.

Sylvain eyed her uniform. Pockets. Alright. He could see two of them on her skirt. He reached into the nearest one, ignoring Felix’s embarrassed grunt, then tried the other one when the first one turned out to be empty. The keys weren’t there either.

“Inside… jacket,” Ingrid slurred helpfully.

“The pocket is on the inside of the jacket?” he asked, exchanging a look with Felix, then rolling his eyes when he saw that his cheeks were coloring.

Ingrid nodded. She let go of his arm, possibly to unbutton the jacket herself, but as a result, she lost the only thing that had been keeping her from falling over. Felix shot forward to catch her before she fell face first into the door; she stumbled into him, relaxing into his arms again before reaching up between them in an attempt to take the jacket off again. Felix’s cheeks were burning now, and he glared at Sylvain, who helped him turn her around so she had her back to Felix’s chest. 

He gave her a moment to try unbuttoning her own jacket, but her fingers were too clumsy to get anywhere, so eventually he reached for one of the top buttons himself.

“Sylvain,” Felix warned.

He stopped with his fingers hovering in front of the button. “What?”

“What if someone shows up?”

Sylvain hesitated. It’d paint a pretty bad picture, what with Felix holding a drunk Ingrid in place outside her room while Sylvain supposedly felt her up. But what choice did they have?

“You have a better idea?”

Felix groaned, looking to his right, then to his left, then throwing his head back against the door and closing his eyes.

“Just do it quickly.”

He started unbuttoning the first button. “Good thing I’ve gotten so much practice through the years, yeah?” he said in a light tone.

“For the love of--”

“Calm down, Felix, it’s just a jacket.”

He made quick work of the thing, then pulled it open and eyed the insides. Why in the world Ingrid had hidden pockets sewn into her jacket was beyond him, but at least he could see the shape of a key in one of them. Taking care not to graze her chest, he reached in with two fingers into the pocket and fished out the key.

“Ta-daa!”

“Finally,” Felix muttered, turning Ingrid around again and stepping to the side so Sylvain could open the door. As soon as it was open, the three of them practically tumbled inside and shut the door so quickly it was a miracle it wasn’t louder.

Ingrid slumped against Felix, forcing him to wrap his arms fully around her. If he hadn’t looked so utterly miserable, Sylvain might have taken a moment to appreciate the picture. It wasn’t often that Felix voluntarily hugged other people--though it wasn’t exactly voluntary now, was it?

“What do you say we get you in bed, Ingrid?” Sylvain asked, relieving Felix from her weight by pulling her upright.

“Mm-hm,” she hummed, her eyes closed. 

Sylvain briefly considered helping her undress--he’d grown up with the girl and seen her half naked plenty of times, it wasn’t a big deal--but ultimately decided not to. It was only partly out of respect for Felix. Even if it wasn’t a big deal to Sylvain _,_ it might be to Ingrid, and she wasn’t exactly in the right mind to give her consent.

He did remove her jacket though, since it was already unbuttoned and hanging loose on her shoulders. As he slipped it off her arms, she reached for her skirt and tried unbuttoning that as well. He didn’t even bother stopping her, since she’d already proven she was useless at unbuttoning things at the moment.

Felix removed the covers on her bed, then fetched a glass of water while Sylvain helped her sit down. She had a pitcher on her desk, so he didn’t have to leave the room to get her water. He did have to help her drink though, since when she tried to do it herself, half of it ended up in her lap.

“I’m going to wipe the floor with her during our next training session,” Felix muttered as he held up the glass to her lips.

Sylvain weighed his next words carefully. “You don’t think she’ll be punished enough?”

Felix clenched his jaw, staying silent until all the water was gone. He walked over to the desk and set down the glass, then leaned back against the backrest of the chair and stared into the floor for a long moment before speaking again.

“What do you think happened?”

Sylvain looked at Ingrid, who was gingerly wiping at her mouth with the back of her hand. He’d like to be able to give a definitive answer, but he’d been pondering the same thing ever since he found her in the stable. What happened that made her do this to herself? He didn’t really know what was going on in her life nowadays; all their interactions seemed to consist of her scolding him for being a flirt or for slacking off during classes. It hurt to admit it, but he wasn’t as close to Ingrid as he’d once been. As he’d like to be.

“Maybe she failed a class?” he suggested quietly.

Felix scoffed. “You insult her.”

“Well, what do you think happened then?”

The other boy shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe… maybe something reminded her of…” 

He trailed off, but he didn’t need to finish his sentence. And it would make sense that she’d thought of Glenn, since he was at the forefront of her mind when she dug her nose into Felix’s collar, but… Even back when he died, she never resorted to anything like this. She’d shut herself inside her room for weeks, sure, but she’d still taken care of her basic needs, and as far as he knew, she’d never had drugs of any kind. And still, she’d gotten through it. Or hadn’t she?

“Makes sense,” he said, even though it still felt off to him. It was their best theory at the moment. Maybe she’d tell them the truth when she sobered up, maybe not. If she didn’t, he wouldn’t hold it against her. He could understand wanting to keep things to yourself.

Felix sighed. “I’m going to bed.”

“What?”

Felix paused with his hand on the door handle, staring incomprehensibly at Sylvain.

“We can’t leave her like this! What if she chokes on her own vomit or something?”

“What do you suggest we do, get in bed with her?” he snarled. “ _No,_ Sylvain.”

“I wasn’t going to suggest that!” Sylvain spluttered. “What kind of jerk do you think I am? I was going to say we could grab our pillows and blankets and sleep on the floor.”

“I don’t see why I have to be a part of your dumb ideas. Leave me out of it.”

“So you’re going to leave her alone with _me?_ A hormonal, hopeless good-for-nothing who can’t be trusted to unbutton a girl’s jacket without surveillance?”

Felix stared at him. It had been meant as a jab, but apparently it had hit home.

“You wouldn’t--”

“ _No,_ of course I wouldn’t, and you’re a jerk for even considering it! But,” Sylvain said with a sigh, “but I don’t know what other people might think if they found out I’d spent the night in her room.”

He swallowed, looking away as he waited for Felix’s response. He hated having to admit it, but he had a reputation, and he didn’t want Ingrid to be swept up into it.

“Fine,” Felix muttered. “Give me your key, and I’ll get our things.”

Sylvain kept his gaze fixed on the floor even as he held out his key. He only looked up again after Felix had left the room and closed the door. Then he turned to Ingrid, who had managed to crouch down beneath her blanket all by herself, and seemed to already be sleeping soundly. If she didn’t hate them tomorrow for invading her privacy, he’d make sure that she knew how much he cared for her. He’d make sure they got back on track again. Because Ingrid and Felix were the two most important people in his life, and if he didn’t have them by his side… what else was there?


	2. Chapter 2

It started as a dull, heavy thudding in the back of her mind; just like a mosquito buzzing at the outskirts of her vision. Something she couldn’t identify, couldn’t grab onto, but something that was constantly there--and growing.

Then the thuds became claps, in a steadily growing pace, and the mosquito started digging into her head with sharp beaks and claws. She tried to move, but it made everything spin around her, even with her eyes closed. And with the spin came a revolting feeling in her abdomen that sent feverish shivers along her spine.

She turned over on her side, panting for air, and the worst sickness she could remember ever feeling came over her all at once. Beads of sweat had formed on her forehead; she gingerly wiped them away with a trembling hand before stumbling out of bed, blindly but frenetically searching for somewhere to relieve herself of the horrifying, pulsating sickness inside her.

Her legs must have tangled in her sheets, because she fell forward headfirst, wincing as she prepared to land on the wooden floor planks. But what she thumped into was much softer than that, and it stirred with a groan.

“What… Ingrid?”

The voice was groggy and unidentifiable, and for a brief moment she panicked. _Someone got into my room._ But then her vision cleared somewhat and she saw a wild red bush of hair. _Sylvain?!_

“Do you need to throw up?” he asked, running a hand through his hair before quietly clearing his throat. Despite herself, she nodded hastily.

He got up on his feet before helping her up as well, guiding her to a bucket that she didn’t remember having put in the corner of the room. A deep part of her was embarrassed as she bent over and Sylvain held her hair for her, but there was nothing to it; she couldn’t hold it in, and even if she could, the agony inside her was too much to bear.

All that came up was liquid, which made it easy to get out but made her wonder what in the world she’d been drinking. She didn’t remember… only fuzzy memories of a dark bottle of glass, of a horse gently sniffing her cheeks, of someone carrying her up a flight of stairs.

“You’ll be okay,” Sylvain murmured sleepily as he stroked her back, and that was another part of the puzzle that didn’t make sense, because why would she _ever_ invite _him_ into her room?

A horrible theory bloomed inside her mind, and she knew she had to kill it immediately for it not to take root and fester.

“Did--did we…? I mean… you and I…?”

“What? Goddess, no! If you even need to ask, I think that’s answer enough?”

She didn’t fully understand what he meant by that, but the important thing was that he’d said no. She allowed herself to relax and take a deep breath. The sickness had subsided; now she just felt horribly tired and disoriented.

“Can you… help me back,” she whispered, grabbing at his arm.

“Yeah.”

On their way back, she stumbled over something else on the floor. It felt like another pair of legs, but then…

She peered down at the shape beneath her, seeing it stir slightly and hearing an annoyed huff that sounded suspiciously similar to a certain broody swordsman she knew.

“Is _Felix_ here too?!” she asked in a rushed whisper. “What--what did I--”

Sylvain hushed her as he helped her get back in bed. “Don’t worry, everything’s alright. We’ll explain tomorrow. Try to sleep.” He left her side for a moment, then came back with a glass of water that he set on the bedside table. “But drink this first.”

She reluctantly took the glass in her hands--both of them, since she was shaking so much--and forced the liquid down her throat. Somehow, it just made everything feel a whole lot worse: her headache pounded harder, her head spun violently again, and she could swear she felt the water as it dribbled through her body. With a wince, she put the empty glass down and lay back against her pillow.

“I’ll be here if you need me,” Sylvain mumbled somewhere nearby, below her.

It took a while before the pounding and the spinning calmed down enough for her to be able to relax again, but when she finally did, she slipped seamlessly back into sleep.

* * *

The next time she woke up, everything was a lot clearer. Light was streaming in from the windows, and while she wouldn’t exactly say that it was pleasant to open her eyes, at least she didn’t feel like she was in the middle of a painful fever dream.

For a moment, she wondered if she’d imagined seeing Sylvain and Felix in her room. In the morning light, everything seemed much less surreal, even if she still had a hard time remembering last night. She peered over the edge of the bed, her heart jumping when she saw two sets of bedsheets on the floor, and one of them occupied by a soundly sleeping redhead. The cover had slipped down to his waist, revealing a thin white shirt with its top buttons unbuttoned, allowing some stray red chest hair to peek out. She hurriedly looked away, feeling like she’d seen something forbidden, and found herself meeting the gaze of one Felix Fraldarius, sitting on her chair with one of his swords in his lap. He was clearly cleaning it, but had stopped mid-motion. 

_Did… did he just catch me ogling Sylvain’s chest?_

She paused.

Had she really _ogled_ him? Was that a fact now?

Without saying a word, Felix continued cleaning his sword, tearing his gaze away from Ingrid to instead focus on what he was doing. She swallowed. Her eyes caught on to the glass on her bedside table; it had been filled with water again. Did Felix do that? She couldn’t tell, but she figured she should drink it if he’d gone to the trouble, so she carefully gripped it with both hands and brought it to her mouth. Some of the water sloshed down over her chin; she quickly wiped it away, but Felix had looked up again, and if she hadn’t known better, she would have said there was something akin to a smile on his lips. It disappeared as soon as their eyes met again, however.

She wanted to ask him what happened yesterday, but that would reveal that she couldn’t remember, and she didn’t want to admit that to him. It felt like one of those things he would turn against her; call her stupid. It would be a better idea to ask Sylvain. He might tease her for it, but it wouldn’t be worse than that.

So instead of asking Felix what happened, she settled for saying, “Thank you.”

She may not remember what had happened, but it was fairly obvious that he and Sylvain had helped her somehow. 

“Don’t,” he muttered. “Thank the idiot on the floor.”

She allowed herself a second look at said idiot, who took that very opportunity to shift onto his side, pulling his blanket up to his chin. Felix sighed. He got up from the chair, placed the sword on the desk with care, and walked up to Sylvain. Then he gently kicked his legs. She wouldn’t call it more than a nudge, really, but Sylvain whined as if he’d been kneed in the groin.

“No,” he mumbled in a voice heavy with sleep.

“Get up, you fool. Ingrid’s awake.”

At that, Sylvain sat up with a jolt, almost slamming his forehead into her knee. She quickly pulled her leg back, staring at him as he groggily blinked up at her. After a second, a slow smile started growing on his lips. When it was aimed straight at her like that, she got a strange impulse to flee, to hide.

“Hey,” he said softly, covering his mouth to yawn before continuing, “how’re you feeling?”

“I’ve been better,” she admitted, still not knowing the full extent of what had happened. She glanced at Felix, who had moved back to the desk, but instead of sitting down, he leaned back against it this time and crossed his arms over his chest. Maybe there was no way around it. Maybe she had to accept that Felix would know what a fool she was.

She was just about to come clean when Sylvain spoke again. 

“We couldn’t find Professor Manuela last night, but you should check in with her as soon as you can.”

She stared at him in confusion. “Why would I do that?”

He gave her a knowing look. “In case you really were poisoned, like you said.”

Oh. She felt heat rise to her cheeks, only now remembering that she’d indeed said something like that to him last night. It was just a faint, fuzzy memory, but she knew he was telling the truth. And with that memory came several others crashing down unto her; memories of swiping one of the smuggled bottles when no one saw, of sobbing to her heart’s content in a pile of hay while gulping down a disgustingly strong liquid, of wanting the world and everything in it to just disappear for a moment.

“About that…” She swallowed, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Felix and Sylvain were both looking at her attentively, like they knew something big was coming. Better to just get it out rather than prolong this torture, then. “I wasn’t actually poisoned. I… Did you see the bottles passed around in secret last night? I had one of those. Almost… an entire one.”

She expected judgmental looks and admonishments, but the way Sylvain inhaled sharply and clutched at his heart and the way Felix rolled his eyes at Sylvain’s reaction made her think they weren’t as oblivious as they’d let on. And that must mean…

“You knew,” she hedged. 

“Well, yeah,” Sylvain said with an apologetic smile, “I caught you red-handed with the bottle.” He glanced at Felix for a second before looking at her again. “What we don’t know is… why did you do it?”

She cast down her eyes, fiddling with the creases of her skirt and realizing at the same time that they’d let her keep her clothes on--except her jacket, which hung neatly on a hook on the wall. She was grateful they’d at least allowed her that tiny little sliver of dignity.

Not that it mattered in the grand scheme of things. Not if what her father had told her was true, and not just something he’d uttered in a fit of rage like part of her had naively hoped. She didn’t know if fits of rage could have any effect on a letter, but it was the only excuse she could see for what he’d said, unless… unless it was true, and in that case…

Her shoulders sagging, she made a vague gesture in the direction of the desk.

“Top-most drawer,” she said quietly, nodding when Felix gave her a look to confirm that she wanted him to open it.

She watched as he pulled out the letter--still out of its envelope and crinkled at the edges, where she’d clasped the paper yesterday. 

“You can read it.”

He slowly lowered his gaze to the letter, and judging by the way his pupils darted back up several times, she could guess he had a hard time believing its contents, too. Eventually he looked up again, meeting her gaze with a forlorn look in his own eyes. He didn’t say anything, but she could see the questions piling up behind those eyes.

“Let Sylvain read it, too.”

Felix silently handed the letter to Sylvain, who read it through only once before exclaiming,

“He can’t _do_ that!”

“Why wouldn’t he?” she asked quietly, crushing the part of her that wanted to agree with him. “You know he’s been looking for suitors for years. He’s been patient until now, but I haven’t exactly returned the favor.”

“Yeah, I know that part, but--he wants to _pull you out of the academy?!”_

There it was, finally out in the open. It felt like a relief somehow, to hear it spoken by another person. By a friend. It already seemed like the weight on her shoulders had been halved.

“Becoming a knight is all you dream of!” Sylvain continued, becoming more and more aggravated for every sentence he uttered. “Who even is this guy? Some viscount from the Empire? I’ve never even heard of his surname! Does he have a Crest?”

“I don’t know any more than you do, Sylvain.”

“And you’re supposed to _marry_ the guy!” He scoffed in disbelief, waving the letter in Felix’s direction. “Felix! This is preposterous. Can’t you do something? Can your father do something?”

Felix looked away. “Why would he be able to do anything?”

Sylvain opened and closed his mouth again and again, struggling to find the words. “He--he could--you could,” he sputtered. “ _You_ could marry her!”

Felix’s gaze snapped to Ingrid’s, his eyebrows shooting up toward his hairline. Ingrid jerked back at the sheer intensity of his gaze, but Sylvain seemed to think he’d come up with a brilliant solution, because he went on excitedly.

“I mean, that makes sense! Your status is higher than some nobody-viscount, so Count Galatea could never say no to that offer.”

“If that’s what you’re after, why don’t _you_ marry her?” Felix almost yelled.

“Well that’s obvious,” Sylvain exclaimed, opening his arms in what Ingrid supposed was meant to symbolize just that. “Ingrid wouldn’t want _me,_ but she’s been betrothed to a Fraldarius before, so why not--”

Felix gripped the hilt of his sword. “Say one more word and I’ll cut you in half,” he growled.

“Guys!” Ingrid shouted. “Please! I can’t believe you. Do you even hear yourselves right now? You’re both idiots!”

Sylvain turned to look up at her, something softening in his gaze. “Why? Is it really such a bad idea? If you were betrothed to Felix, the Fraldarius family could combine that agreement with a caveat that the marriage wouldn’t take place until you’d both graduated. You wouldn’t have to leave Garreg Mach prematurely.”

“Does Felix get a say in the matter?” she asked tiredly. Part of her wanted so badly to think that what Sylvain said made sense, but another part also knew that he was just spouting wishful thinking.

“Yes, do I?” Felix asked. Despite herself, Ingrid couldn’t help shrinking somewhat at his harsh tone.

“What could you possibly stand to lose, Felix?” Sylvain asked. “We both know you and I are going to be married off eventually, just like Ingrid. Why not do it with someone you know?”

Felix didn’t have anything to say to that except unintelligible mumbling to himself as he turned around to face the desk.

“Sylvain,” Ingrid started with a sigh, waiting until he was giving her his full attention. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do here, but it’s not fair to pull Felix into it. I need to fulfil my duties to my family; I’m their only hope. You know that. I couldn’t afford to say no to the agreement my father’s made, even if the choice had been mine.”

He shook his head in disbelief. “So you’re just going to keep quiet and take it? You’re going to let him pull you out?”

“I don’t have a choice,” she whispered, terrified at the notion yet knowing that what she said was true.

Sylvain stared at her in despair. She could almost see the ideas churning behind his eyes, but at least he didn’t offer any more of them.

She looked over to Felix, who still had his back turned. No one said anything. Was this really how it was going to end? Even now, they couldn’t find it in themselves to get along?

“If you won’t marry Felix,” Sylvain said quietly, almost to himself, “then will you marry me?”

Ingrid turned to stare at the redhead sitting on the floor beneath her, hair mussed and shirt still halfway opened. He had focused his gaze on the wall in front of him as he asked, but now he slowly raised his head to look up at her. There wasn’t a trace of a smile or the hint of a joke anywhere to be seen. She felt cold.

“Don’t get too excited,” she said dryly.

Sylvain looked away. “Sorry, that was…” He trailed off, reaching back with a hand to gingerly rub his neck. “Look, I don’t think either of us would choose to marry if we had a choice. Your reality came knocking a lot sooner than mine, but I know that it’s waiting around the corner. Money won’t be a factor in my case, but heritage will. And yours is as fine as any other noblewoman’s.”

She couldn’t tell if he was serious or not. Nothing he said hinted that he was just toying with her, but...

“You’re really proposing to me,” she said slowly, “based on my Crest?”

“No,” he said, meeting her gaze again. “I’m proposing to you because I care about you. And because… I know you don’t care about _my_ Crest.”

For a moment, all she could do was keep staring at him as he calmly looked up at her, bedhead and all. Was he really doing this? Was he really suggesting…?

“Alright,” Felix said, shifting awkwardly over by the desk. “I’m going to have breakfast before they close. You two stay here and… and…” He gestured vaguely with one hand as he pulled the sword from the desk with his other. “... fraternize.”

“Wait,” Sylvain called. “I want you here.”

Felix eyed the two of them, clearly uncomfortable about the turn of events. “It’s late. If anyone sees you leave together now, they won’t bat an eye.”

“It’s not about that,” Sylvain said. “I just…” He paused. “Okay, I’ll be honest. I think it’d be best if the two of you marry. And besides, if you did, I could come visit you whenever I wanted. That way, all three of us could stay together. If Felix stayed single, he’d probably roam the world as a mercenary or something. So there.”

“Why not drag the boar into it while you’re at it,” Felix drawled. “Or get _him_ to marry Ingrid, then you can marry me.”

“Yeah, like Dimitri doesn’t have enough suitors as it is. Probably with major Crests too, the whole bunch… And if you and I married, our bloodlines would die out. It wouldn’t solve a thing.” He grinned. “Except your thirst for me.”

Ingrid shut out Felix’s loud response, sighing to herself. “Goddess, I need breakfast.”

“Of course,” Sylvain said, talking over Felix’s cursing. “You had a rough night. And not the _good_ kind of rough you’ll have with your future husband.”

She huffed in disbelief. “I want to punch your face so badly right now.”

“Go ahead,” he purred and fluttered his lashes at her in the dumbest way, placing his hands under his chin like a table for them to rest upon. “As long as you do it with your lips.”

_“Sylvain--”_

“Okay, that’s it, I’m leaving,” Felix announced, doing just that before slamming the door closed behind him.

Ingrid glared at Sylvain. “I’ve been spared from your stupid pick up lines my whole life. Don’t start now.”

He held up his hands in defeat. “Alright, alright, no romance, got it.”

“Only in the eyes of Sylvain Gautier do pick up lines equal romance,” she muttered with an eye roll.

“Well,” he said with a gentle smile, “what kind of romance do you prefer then?”

“The kind where you shut your mouth,” she snapped.

To her surprise, he _did_ shut up, looking at her in silence for a moment before slowly buttoning his shirt, then getting up from the floor to look himself in the mirror. Dazed, she watched him run his fingers through his hair until it resembled something akin to his usual hairstyle. When he was done, he grabbed her jacket from the hook and offered it to her with a solemn expression. She received it, wondering how long he’d be able to keep this up before bursting at the seams. Somehow, she had a feeling he could be more patient than she gave him credit for.

“Sylvain,” she said slowly. “I need you to be serious now. Are you actually proposing that we marry? You and I?”

He nodded, that same solemn look still on his face. She had to swallow down a lump in her throat. Pictures of what it might be like to be married to Sylvain flashed across her vision. Pictures of him grinning at her like an idiot after pulling off a dumb joke; of her having to get him out of trouble time and time again; of him sweet talking her into joining him in bed… Was that what it would be like? Just the same old Sylvain, but this time with the addition of having to fulfil her wifely duties?

Even if she wasn’t completely sure how to feel about that last part, she would be stupid to say no. She’d be married off no matter what; wasn’t it better, then, to marry someone she knew intimately and already trusted to be on her side? Wasn’t it better to marry the future head of House Gautier than what he called a ‘nobody-viscount’ that she knew nothing about?

“Okay then,” she said. “I’ll consider it.”


	3. Chapter 3

She found a place next to Felix in the dining hall, setting her plate at the table and seating herself in silence. He glared at her while he chewed; it was clear that he wanted to ask what had transpired after he left, but couldn’t bring himself to do it. 

She’d asked Sylvain to give her some space so she could think about his offer. She didn’t know how long she’d need, but there was one thing she definitely had to do before she could even consider saying yes.

True to himself, Felix had picked the outer edge of a table at the very edge of the room and far from the table that their other classmates usually chose. Normally, Ingrid found that a little obnoxious, but today, she couldn’t be happier about it--because it meant that she could get some answers.

“I’m going to lay all my cards on the table,” she started, catching his attention. “I don’t remember much at all from last night. Could you fill me in?”

He swallowed the food in his mouth. “What happened to your new suitor?”

Ingrid winced. “I told him I needed space. Besides, I know you’ll be honest. Painfully honest.”

“You don’t think Sylvain would?”

She paused to think, watching as Felix scooped another spoonful into his mouth. “I think he’d mince his words.”

Felix huffed. “He would, wouldn’t he.”

“So will you tell me?” She leaned forward across the table and lowered her voice. “Please?”

He leaned back with a grimace. “Fine. I ran into him outside Knight’s hall. He was carrying you, and you were completely out of it. Your speech was slurred and you laughed at stupid things. He talked me into coming along to make sure no one saw you, so I--”

“Wait,” she said. “So no one saw me?”

Felix looked at her like he thought she was an idiot, which he probably did. “Would you have wanted the entire class, school, _monastery_ to see you like that and gossip about it for weeks, maybe months, afterward?”

She sank back in her seat. “No.”

“Anyway, we got you to the infirmary, but no one was there. You needed to throw up, so Sylvain found you a basket and told me to hold your hair while he stroked your back. Then we walked with you all the way to the room, with you clasping his arm the entire way. The door was locked, so he asked you about the key. You said it was in your pocket.”

She felt her cheeks get hot. “The jacket,” she whispered.

Felix nodded, seemingly untouched by anything he told her. “He gave you a chance to unbutton it yourself, but you were terrible at it. So he did it and found the key.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but Felix caught her question before she’d even asked it.

“I kept an eye on him, but he was straight to the point. Careful, even. When we finally got into your room, he just removed your jacket the rest of the way and helped you into bed. I got you a glass of water and then you fell asleep.”

“And at what point did you decide to stay the night?” 

“That was Sylvain too. He was worried you’d choke to death in your sleep. I was about to leave, but he asked me to stay, since…” 

He trailed off, something almost glassy coming over his eyes. She waited for him to continue, but he didn’t.

“Since…?” she asked, leaning forward slightly.

His eyes returned to normal, and he shrugged. “He wanted me to see for myself that he wouldn’t try anything with you, I suppose.”

She considered this, along with everything else he’d told her, as she leaned back in her chair again. If what Sylvain had said earlier was true, he’d found her in the stable. He could have left her there, could have laughed at her or brought her back to the feast, but instead, he took the time to get her home both safely and in secret.

“He’s not as bad as you think,” Felix added after a moment of silence. 

She blinked at him. “What?”

“I’m assuming that’s why you asked? To decide whether to marry him or not?”

She hushed him, shooting stealthy glances to her sides. “Don’t just say that so casually!”

When she looked back at Felix again, he was smirking. “You’re unbelievable,” he said, shaking his head.

“Why?” she asked cautiously, not as used to this side of Felix.

“Sylvain proposed to you and you have to _think_ about it.”

“What, you think I should just jump head first into whatever he suggests? Because that’s worked out so well before.”

He huffed, but this time in amusement. “He’s right, you know. Your father would never refuse a marriage proposal from me or Sylvain. It’s your best ticket out.”

She knew he was right. She knew it would be a mistake to say no to Sylvain. But the reason why it all made sense was also the main reason she hesitated. Could Felix ever understand that, though? He was always so matter-of-factly, so would hesitation based on something else than logic and facts make sense to him?

He finished his breakfast, seemingly letting her decide whether to talk more and if so, what to say. Maybe it was stupid of her, but he’d already been surprisingly helpful this morning, and if there was even a slight chance that he could help her with the last part too…

She hesitated for long enough that Felix eventually gripped his empty plate, about to leave. 

“Wait,” she blurted out, relaxing slightly when he sat back again and looked at her.

“What?” he asked.

She took a deep breath. “What if he’ll become bitter?”

Felix frowned. “Bitter?”

“If he marries me just for my sake, and he’ll have to stop seeing others… If he’ll have to be with someone he doesn’t love. Wouldn’t that make him resent me?”

He stared at her for a long moment. Then, he burst out laughing. It was soft and quiet, more like a tender chuckle than a full on laugh, but it was more than she was used to hearing from him. When she just looked at him with incomprehension, he eventually stopped laughing and just smirked at her instead.

“Why don’t you ask him that?”

Before she could ask what he meant, he’d gotten up and walked away with his plate. She stared down at her own. _Why don’t I ask him that?_

* * *

She thought she’d find Sylvain chatting up a girl somewhere, but instead, he was holed up in the library. He sat by the furthermost table together with Annette, talking to her quietly over the books laid out on the table. Ingrid held back for a moment, trying to discern what book he was reading, but there was no way. With a sigh, she walked up to the two. Annette, who already faced her, was the first to notice her.

“Ingrid!” she exclaimed happily, before her smile quickly faded. “You look… tired.”

Sylvain turned around in his seat, a hint of surprise on his face. He was nothing if not stubborn apparently, because he still seemed set on staying silent with her.

“I had a little trouble sleeping,” she lied. “What are you reading?”

Annette glanced down at the mess of books in front of her. “I’m studying for my next exam in black magic. Sylvain’s helping me interpret some of the formulas.”

Ingrid turned to Sylvain with a confused frown. “You? Helping with black magic studies?”

He shrugged, still silent. 

“Okay, you can stop now,” she sighed. 

“Annette exaggerates,” he said immediately. “I’m just here to give her something nice to look at. If that’s considered helping, then sure.”

“Oh stop that,” Annette said, swatting his arm playfully. She looked up at Ingrid. “He’s surprisingly good at this stuff. At least on a theoretical level.”

“Yeah, you wouldn’t want me to start casting spells, believe me,” he joked.

“I think I would,” Ingrid said sincerely. Judging by how he kept surprising her this morning, she half expected him to be a natural.

He just raised an eyebrow at her.

“Listen,” she continued, “there’s something I’d like to discuss with you, Sylvain. How long until you’re finished here?”

He looked back at Annette, who shrugged. “You can go. I’ll be fine.”

He got up from the table and smiled at Ingrid. “You can have me now.”

The eye roll she gave in response was more a force of habit than actual annoyance on her part. She started leading him out of the library, toward nowhere in particular--she just wanted to be able to talk to him in private. The second floor halls were secluded, but not enough for the kind of questions she needed to ask. So she ended up taking him to the infirmary, after a quick peek inside to check that it was empty.

“Close the door.”

Sylvain did as she said. She expected him to make a joke about her wanting him to herself, but once again, he was silent. It would have been easier to do this if he’d been his regular dumb self.

“So you’re a black magic natural,” she said, just wanting to fill the silence somehow.

“Don’t tell anyone,” he said with a smile. “Might ruin my reputation.”

“Yes, because your reputation is so spotless now.”

He looked around the room. “You bring me here for a reason? To reminisce about last night, perhaps?”

She crossed her arms over her chest as a protective measure, but it didn’t make her feel any braver. “I talked to Felix already. Apparently you were quite the gentleman.”

“You know how he is,” he said with a dramatic sigh. “He always sees the good in people. That idealism will get him in serious trouble one day.”

“Sylvain,” she said sharply. 

Immediately, his behavior changed. The amused little smile on his lips faded, exchanged for a concerned frown, and his laid-back posture turned tense. He looked like he expected her to scold him, but what she prepared to do was _much_ worse than that.

“I wanted to ask you something,” she murmured, glancing down at her hands, which she’d clasped together in front of her body. 

“Alright,” he replied when she didn’t continue. 

The silence weighed heavily on her shoulders, threatening to squeeze all the air out of her lungs. Goddess, why did it have to be this hard? She’d never had any trouble talking to Sylvain before. But then, she’d never had to discuss this kind of subject with him before, had she?

“If… if I accepted your offer,” she began weakly. “If we married. Would you… stop seeing other women?”

She didn’t dare look up to see his expression. She wasn’t sure what reaction would be worst--for him to laugh or to berate her for asking. 

“I thought that was a given,” he said.

Ingrid swallowed. “And… and that would be alright with you?”

“Of course.”

“You wouldn’t grow to resent me for it?”

He didn’t respond right away, making her feel worse and worse for every second that passed in silence. She’d definitely overstepped a boundary in their friendship, but how was she supposed to seriously consider his proposal if she didn’t know how he truly felt about it?

“Ingrid,” he said slowly. “Stop me if I’m wrong, but it seems like what you really want to ask me is what, er, romantic expectations I’d have on you. And if that’s the case--”

“You’d be marrying me for my sake,” she blurted out. “To get me out of my father’s deal with the Imperial viscount. I can’t help but think that it’s a sacrifice on your part; that you could do much better. You must have _hundreds_ of noblewomen waiting in line for your hand, and you offer it to me on a whim?”

She finally looked up at him, worried she’d see a scowl or disgust on his face--or even worse, ice cold realization--but he just looked forlorn.

“Sorry?”

“You told me you’d prefer it if I married Felix,” she pushed on, even though it hurt to utter the words. “You proposed just because you thought it was my only way out, and because you’re eventually going to get married off anyway.”

His eyebrows lowered, but he didn’t say anything, so she continued.

“Can I be blamed for thinking,” she said with a trembling voice, “that you’d grow resentful in a loveless marriage?”

As she said the last two words, understanding sparked to life in his eyes. _Thank the goddess, finally he gets it._

“You have a point,” he allowed. “And I might. Good thing I do love you, yeah?”

Her mind blanked. She could only stare at him as an amused smile tugged at his lips.

“You--t-that-- _what?_ Sylvain, you can’t just throw that word around like that!”

“But maybe that isn’t what you meant,” he said then, smile gone again. “Maybe you mean it’d be loveless on your part, in which case I wouldn’t blame you.”

“That’s not what I said!” she sputtered.

He blinked at her. “Oh?”

Her entire face felt like she’d just been shoved inside an oven. “I--I mean--I can’t promise I’d be able to live up to your expectations on a wife, but it _wouldn’t_ be loveless on my part. I just--might have to get used to, ahem, viewing you in that way.”

“Again with the expectations,” he complained. “Ingrid, you could be asexual for all I care. It’s not a deal breaker.”

“So you don’t even want me then?”

The second she’d blurted it out, she regretted it. Goddess, had she really just asked him that? She looked away immediately, wishing she could take back the last ten seconds.

“What, I--” he choked out, then cleared his throat. “Of freaking course I do! I mean--damn it! How did you manage to draw _that_ conclusion?”

“I don’t know,” she snarled, dizzy from how hot she was getting at this point. “Maybe the whole ‘you could be asexual for all I care’? What do you think?”

“I was trying to be considerate!” he exclaimed. “I’m trying to make this easier for you. Listen, whatever you want from me, whatever you need, I’ll be happy to give it--or not. Is that enough of a reassurance from me? Do you have what you need to make a decision yet?”

She swallowed and closed her eyes. She’d done it now. He was upset, and for a good reason.

“Let me make myself as clear as I can,” he continued, more calmly now. “I love you, Ingrid. I never even considered proposing to you before, because you’ve made pretty clear over the years that you view me as a thorn in your side, but I didn’t make the proposal on a whim either. All those girls you’ve seen me with? Fun distractions, sure, but all they want me for is the chance to marry into a noble family and birth a baby with a Crest. Does _that_ seem like a loving marriage to you?”

Ingrid opened her eyes and slowly turned her gaze to him. He wore a pained expression, his pupils flitting across her face as he waited for her to answer.

“No,” she murmured. “It doesn’t.”

“If you marry me, we can do whatever we want. You can become a knight, just like you’ve always wanted.”

“I still have to carry on my bloodline.”

“Fine, then we’ll do that afterward. We’ll have time.”

She paused. He’d answered all of her questions, made all the reassurances he could, and didn’t seem to expect anything back from her. Even now, it felt like she had more to gain from this marriage than he had. And she didn’t want to feel like she owed him something for the rest of her life.

“You’re sure you want this? You _want_ to marry me?”

He sighed, but it was soft sigh; almost loving. A gentle smile grew on his lips. “Yeah, I do. There’s no one I’d rather marry. Get that through your head, Ingrid.”

“You know the Galatea territory is next to worthless.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said with an eye roll.

“And if I become a knight, I’ll be away from home for long periods of time.”

“Fine, I’ll just have to come with you. If the going gets rough, I’ll let you ride my trusty steed.” He winked.

She fought against the blush growing on her cheeks. “Or maybe I’ll teach you how to make a pegasus soar its highest.”

Sylvain let out an incredulous laugh. “Was that--did you just _flirt_ with me?”

She huffed. “Don’t let it get to your head.”

He grinned, then took a tentative step toward her and held out his hands. “So is that a yes? You’ll marry me?”

Taking his hands in hers, she nodded slowly. “I’ll… have to ask my father, but like you said, he can’t really refuse an offer from House Gautier, can he?”

“He’d be crazy,” Sylvain agreed, smiling down at her.

She peered back up, feeling strangely shy all of a sudden. It felt like… like she wanted to finalize their agreement somehow, but she wasn’t entirely sure how to. She knew he wouldn’t try anything, he’d made that quite clear, but if _he_ didn’t, that meant she--the inexperienced one of them--had to take a leap of faith.

Her gaze dropped to his lips, which were still smiling. She’d never really let herself think it before, but they looked pretty inviting. Letting her eyes close halfway, she stood on tiptoe and leaned her head back, hoping he’d take over from there. And he did. One of his hands moved up to gently cup her neck as the other gripped her elbow, and then he closed the distance between their faces and met her lips with his own. It was little more than a chaste peck, but maybe that was alright for their very first time.

He pulled back way too soon--not that she’d ever admit it out loud. His lips had been so soft and gentle, but she wondered whether they could be more urgent as well. Strange things to think about Sylvain Gautier, the hopeless flirt she’d grown up with.

“Alright,” he murmured, still smiling. “Want to go give Felix the happy news?”

* * *

A little over a week later, she received another letter from her father. She’d never seen his handwriting look so carefree and loopy; apparently he was as happy as she was about the arrangement, if not happier. _‘I always hoped you would end up with one of the boys,’_ the letter said, ‘the boys’ supposedly being Sylvain and Felix, and maybe Dimitri, too. _‘Perhaps the arrangement with the viscount was all your fiance needed to see things clearly.’_

While she resented the way he seemed to view the previous arrangement--if he knew it had ended with her in a haystack, he might have thought twice--she also supposed he had a point. 

She showed the letter to both Sylvain and Felix, causing the latter to blush and grovel and the former to laugh out loud.

“Seeing you throw up in a waste bin did put things in perspective,” Sylvain mused.

He’d made his father draft up an agreement that stated the marriage would be postponed until they had both graduated, just like he had promised, but the news of their engagement was already spreading around the monastery. Apart from the handful of people who gave Ingrid looks of pity when they passed, most people--especially the other Blue Lions--were sincerely happy for the two of them. Dimitri even pulled them both into a hug when he found out.

Sylvain stopped flirting with other girls, focusing his sole attention on wooing Ingrid, though he’d found a surprisingly endearable new way of doing it that didn’t involve pick up lines. Whenever people’s attention was focused elsewhere, he might smile and lean in toward her--just slightly, just a tiny little tilt in her direction--and when she inadvertently gave in and pulled him to her, for a kiss or simply an embrace, he’d let out a content hum that vibrated pleasantly through her chest as she relaxed into him. The ring on his finger really brought his more affectionate side to light, to the apparent chagrin of Felix--though Ingrid could swear their friend more often than not hid a smile behind his eye rolls these days.

Even through the war and thereafter, they stayed together as knights fighting side by side--sometimes on Sylvain’s steed, sometimes on Ingrid’s pegasus, and sometimes on neither. 

And sometimes, they even let Felix catch a ride.


End file.
